Bjornstjern was born in a tiny village in northern Norway and named (and misspelled) after the famous Bjornstjerne Bjornson, for unknown reasons. The minute he was born, infant Bjornstjern was adopted by his single Native American foster mother. In the piss-ant town of Matoaca, Virginia, little Bjornstjern found a home. At least, it was supposed to be a home. His heart always longed for his native land, even before he knew it. He was raised in a relatively religious environment, though at its core (that being Bjornstjern's heart) more spiritually based than actually religious. After having his heart broken as an adolescent, Bjornstjern developed a taste for poetry. Not that crappy beatnick shit - real poetry. His writing style had been influenced by more classical themes, though remained true to his own personal style. Bjornstjern learned, in time, to write about things besides heart-ache. He grew to understand and appreciate other art forms, previously seeming strange and even alien. Film, paintings, songs, and even the subtleties of fiction proved to reflect some aspects of an individual's psyche. He went on to attend Virginia Commonwealth University where he double majored in literature and philosophy. Bjornstjern also took unnacredited classes in psychiatry, though he skipped out on those for scheduling reasons. He currently lives in Oslo as a starving artist. His sugar momma is employed at some government building, raking in the couple's wages.
-This is all largely BS. Although it does have reflections of truth throughout.